Stuart Woods 6 Stone Barrington Novels

by Stuart Woods

  “I should have such house guests,” she said.

  “Do you have a house, yet?”

  “They’re putting me up in a government suite at the Waldorf Towers until either I find a place or they need it for somebody more important, whichever comes first.”

  “I would extend your residence there as long as possible.”

  She shook her head. “No, I have to pay my own room service and laundry bills. Do you have any idea what they charge for dry cleaning a silk blouse?”

  “A week’s pay?”

  “Very nearly, and breakfast this morning was forty-five bucks.”

  “I hope you ate well.”

  “Better than I intended to. I felt I had to finish it.”

  “I know how you feel. Billy Bob cooked me breakfast this morning—a strip steak and half a dozen eggs. I couldn’t eat lunch, and I’m not very hungry now.”

  He looked back at Billy Bob and his date, posing for a photograph with the mayor, whose head hovered at about the height of the date’s nipples, which were threatening to become visible. They all seemed the best of friends.

  Stone was still thinking about that phone call that morning. “Excuse me a second,” he said. He walked out of the dining room and into the hallway, next to the huge Picasso weaving and called Bob Cantor, who did all sorts of technical investigations for him.

  “Hello?”

  “Bob, it’s Stone; are you near your computer?”

  “Always.”

  “Can you do your magic and tell me the origin of a phone call that came to my house about nine-fifteen this morning?” Stone could hear the tapping noises from Bob’s keyboard.

  “Did you get a lot of calls this morning?”

  “That was the only long-distance call before about ten.”

  “Here we go: It came from the residence of somebody named Warren Buffett, in Omaha, Nebraska. Holy shit, are you getting calls from Warren Buffett?”

  “It would appear so. Thanks, Bob.” He hung up and returned to his table.

  “Everything all right?” Tiff asked.

  “Seems to be,” Stone replied. He was going to have to start taking Billy Bob Barnstormer seriously.

  WHEN THE DINNER was over, they went back to her waiting car.

  “I’ll give you a lift home,” she said. She lowered the partition window slightly and gave the driver the address.

  “You know my address?”

  “You’d be amazed at what I know about you.”

  Shortly, they stopped in front of his house. “How about dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Let me call you when I see how my first day is going,” she said. “Will you take me to Elaine’s? I’ve never been.”

  “Sure.” He gave her his card. “The cell-phone number is on there, too, if I’m not in my office. But then, you probably already know my cell-phone number.”

  “Of course I do,” she said, pecking him on the cheek. “Thanks for squiring me tonight; I’d have felt awkward alone.”

  “I doubt if you’ve ever felt awkward in your life,” Stone said. He slid out of the car and ran up the front steps, carrying his coat.

  7

  WHEN STONE got to his bedroom, Billy Bob’s house present was stacked up at the foot of his bed, and Stone was confused. Maybe Joan had worked late and moved the luggage, but how had she even known about it?

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Stone woke at his usual seven o’clock, and this time, to the smell of frying bacon. He got into a robe and went down to the kitchen. Billy Bob was at the stove again, and his date of the night before was perched on a stool at the counter. Stone wondered if they had the mayor tucked away somewhere.

  “Hey, Stone,” Billy Bob said. “You’re out of steak.”

  “Sorry about that,” Stone said.

  “This here is Tiffany,” he said, nodding at the young woman.

  She extended a hand. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

  Stone wasn’t sure he could stand another Tiffany in his life. “I thought you’d gone to a hotel,” he said to Billy Bob.

  “Well, I thought so, too, but the Four Seasons won’t have my suite until tomorrow night. I still had your key; I hope it ain’t too much of a imposition.”

  “Oh, no,” Stone said. “Make yourself at home. You, too,” he said to the new Tiffany.

  “I already did,” she said. “I fucked Billy Bob’s brains out last night in your guest room.”

  Billy Bob laughed loudly.

  “I’m so pleased for you both,” Stone said. “Billy Bob, I’ll eat two of those eggs and two strips of bacon, and no more. I still have indigestion from yesterday.”

  The phone rang, and Stone answered it. “It’s for you,” he said. “Warren Buffett again.”

  Tiffany Two held the phone to Billy Bob’s ear, so he could talk and cook at the same time. “You got it, Warren? Good. Everthing all right, then? Good. We got to talk about that other deal pretty soon. Yeah, I’ll be at this number until tomorrow, then at the Four Seasons. Watch your ass, Warren; bye-bye.”

  Stone hung up the phone, feeling this was all wrong. One didn’t tell Warren Buffett to watch his ass. Or did one? He didn’t really know.

  STONE WAS READING in his study when Tiff called. “How’s your first day going?” he asked.

  “Meeting after meeting, mostly just to get introduced to everybody. I’ve been brought up-to-date on a couple of cases.”

  “You sent up Martha Stewart, yet?”

  “I told you, I’m keeping my distance from that. I didn’t even ask about it.”

  “My guess is, you’re going to get your ass kicked.”

  “Not my ass, sweetheart; I’ve got full deniability on that one. Looks like I’m okay for dinner, though. What time?”

  “Pick you up at eight-thirty?”

  “Why don’t I pick you up? The car goes with the job.”

  “Do we really have to arrive at Elaine’s with a security detail? I’ve got my reputation to think about.”

  “Tell you what, I’ll ditch the Suburban, if the FBI will let me, but the driver will still be an agent. The office has had some threats, and the AG doesn’t want me smeared all over a New York sidewalk. Like a lot of yokels, he thinks the city is a very dangerous place.”

  “I hope your office doesn’t record your calls,” Stone said, “or you’re going to find yourself on the sidewalk job hunting.”

  “Good point. How does one dress at Elaine’s?”

  “Any way you like. I probably won’t wear a necktie, if that helps.”

  “Okay, see you at eight-thirty; I’ll dress sloppy.”

  SLOPPY TURNED OUT TO BE a sheepskin coat over a cashmere sweater and tan slacks that showed off her ass beautifully.

  They settled at a table and ordered a drink, then Elaine came over.

  “Elaine,” Stone said, “this is Tiff Baldwin, the new U.S. Attorney.”

  “I heard,” Elaine said, shaking her hand. “You leave Martha Stewart alone, you hear?”

  “Not my case! Before my time!”

  “Fuckin’ Attorney General!” Elaine said. “Next, he’ll be after me!” She got up and went to greet some friends.

  “You know,” Tiff said, “practically everybody I’ve met so far in this city, including everybody last night, has hit me with that?”

  “It’s a good thing you’re not running for office,” Stone said.

  “Thank God for small favors. You sleep well last night?”

  “Well, I tossed and turned for a while, thinking of you, but I finally got a few hours. Woke up this morning to find the Texan in my kitchen again, this time with his date. Oh, guess what her name is.”

  “Oh, God, don’t tell me.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “You see the cross I bear.”

  “I do.”

  “What do you eat here?”

  “Try the osso buco, unless you’re dieting.”

  “I never diet; I exercise instead. The Waldorf has a very nice gym. Do you work out?”
she asked, poking him in the belly with a finger.

  “I hate it, but I do. I’ve got some equipment in the basement.”

  “It looks like a nice house; you had it long?”

  “I inherited it from a great-aunt a few years ago and did most of the renovation myself.”

  “Nice to have a great-aunt, isn’t it?”

  “Yep. I’ll show you the place sometime; my father did all the cabinetwork and millwork.”

  “Your father was a builder?”

  “A cabinet and furniture maker. His father was a textile mill owner in Massachusetts, but they parted company over politics.”

  “What was the disagreement?”

  “My grandfather was a Republican; my father was a Communist.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Don’t tell the AG; he’ll come after me.”

  “Don’t worry, his time is taken up with Islamists these days. Where’d your first name come from?”

  “My mother’s name was Matilda Stone.”

  “The painter?”

  “Yes. You know her work?”

  “I saw an exhibit of hers at the Morgan Library once, years ago. She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  “They both are. Your folks still alive?”

  “Very much so. Daddy is a Washington lawyer, and Mother is, well, a hostess and a great beauty. For a living.”

  “Baldwin and Peet?”

  “The very same.”

  “So your daddy’s rich, and your ma is good-lookin’?”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Tough.”

  “Yes, it’s been a hard life.”

  “You ready to order?”

  “The osso buco sounds great.”

  Stone ordered it for both of them, along with a bottle of Amerone.

  Dino came in, hung up his coat and sat down at their table.

  “What are you doing here?” Stone asked. “Can’t you see I’m trying to seduce this woman?”

  “Introduce me,” Dino said.

  “Tiff, this is Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti, commander of the detective squad at the Nineteenth Precinct. Dino, this is Tiff Baldwin, the new U.S. Attorney.”

  “I heard about you on TV,” Dino said. “Why are you trying to crucify Martha Stewart?”

  Tiff buried her face in her hands and pretended to weep.

  “It’s not her fault, Dino,” Stone said, “now go find another table.”

  “Okay, okay, I know when I’m not wanted,” Dino said, getting up. “By the way, I talked to my guy who’s heading the investigation of the shooting the other night. He thinks you were the target, not Billy Bob. See ya.” And with a wave, he went and sat down with somebody else.

  “Somebody’s shooting at you?” Tiff asked.

  “Ignore Dino,” Stone said. “He’s making it up.”

  “Are you really trying to seduce me?”

  “Not yet.”

  Tiff dropped Stone off at his house at midnight.

  “You going to be around this weekend?” he asked.

  “Yep, I’m apartment-hunting all day Saturday.”

  “You’ll be tired when you’re done; why don’t I cook you some dinner that night?”

  “Sounds great; I want to see your house.”

  “And I want to show it to you.”

  8

  STONE WOKE to the smell of absolutely nothing—no steak, no bacon. Maybe Billy Bob and his girl were sleeping in. Then, as he got out of bed, he noticed a sheet of his stationery on top of the pile of luggage at the foot of his bed. He picked it up.

  “Hey, Stone,” it read. “I got to go to Omaha right away to set up a deal. Tiffany is going to her place. I’ll be back at the Four Seasons tomorrow night. Let me buy you some dinner. Billy B.”

  There was no date or time on it. He got himself together and went down to the kitchen for some breakfast, this time, his usual bran cereal. Helene, his Greek housekeeper, was tidying up.

  “Good morning, Mr. Stone,” she said, in her heavily accented English.

  “Good morning, Helene. You can clean the big guest room; the occupants have checked out.”

  “Yes, sir,” Helene said, and she went about her work.

  Stone was halfway through his cereal when he heard her scream. He ran toward the back stairs and met her halfway up, coming down.

  Helene seemed unable to speak, but she was pointing up the stairs.

  Stone ran all the way up to the top floor, which was more exercise than he had planned on that morning, and into the guest room. Tiffany was lying on her back in the bed, and he didn’t have to look for a pulse to know she was dead. Her eyes and mouth were open, and there were big bruises on her throat. When he felt for a pulse she was cold.

  Stone stepped back and looked at her, then around the room. Nothing was in disarray; her clothes were hanging neatly in the closet, and the guest bathrobe she had worn at breakfast the day before was thrown over a chair. He found her handbag under the robe but didn’t touch it. He went back to his own bedroom and called Dino.

  “Bacchetti.”

  “It’s Stone.”

  “Whatsamatter? You sound funny.”

  “Billy Bob’s girlfriend is dead in my guest room; looks like she was strangled.”

  “Did you screw with the scene?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I’ll be there with troops.”

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, there were cops, crime-scene analysts and EMTs all over his house. Stone sat in his study, answering questions from two cops, Morton and Weiss, while Dino watched and listened.

  “Where is the note?” Morton asked.

  “In the trash basket next to my bed, where I threw it after I read it.”

  “Where is this Billy Bob guy?”

  “The note said he had gone to Omaha. He’s doing some kind of deal with Warren Buffett.”

  “How do you know that?” Dino asked.

  “First, he told me so; second, he’s had two phone calls from Buffett, on successive days. I checked out the first one, and it originated from Buffett’s residence in Omaha.”

  “You check it out, too,” Dino said to the two detectives. “And talk to Buffett. We got a time of death, yet?”

  “The ME is upstairs working on it,” Weiss said.

  As if on cue, the ME came into the room, and he didn’t waste any time. “Preliminary conclusions, death by strangulation, between nine and eleven, last night.”

  Stone breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Where were you between nine and eleven?” Morton asked.

  “At Elaine’s.” He pointed at Dino. “He can confirm.”

  “I can confirm,” Dino said. “I got there a little before nine, and he was already there; I left a little before eleven, and he was still there.”

  “I didn’t leave until about eleven forty-five,” Stone said. “Elaine or the headwater, Gianni, can confirm that.”

  Weiss had left the room, and he came back with Billy Bob’s note, holding it by a corner in his rubber-gloved fingers. “It’s on your stationery,” he said to Stone.

  “I keep it on my desk in the bedroom, and in a pigeonhole over there.” He pointed at a bookcase in the corner. “I guess Billy Bob found it when he was looking for something to write the note on.”

  A young man came into the room. “No prints,” he said.

  “Whadaya mean, no prints?” Dino demanded.

  “No prints anywhere in the bedroom or bathroom, not even the corpse’s. It’s been wiped clean, the whole area.”

  “I like your purse,” Dino said, nodding at the bag hanging on the young man’s arm.

  “It’s the corpse’s. Her name is Hilda Marlene Beckenheim, lives in Chelsea. There’s credit cards, a Pennsylvania driver’s license, a thing of birth-control pills and enough condoms to start a whorehouse.”

  “Hooker,” Dino said.

  “I’m so glad her name isn’t Tiffany,” Stone said.

  “What?”

  “Billy Bob intr
oduced her to me at breakfast, yesterday, as Tiffany. One Tiffany in my life is enough.”

  “Had you ever met her before that?”

  “No, but I saw her at a party at the Four Seasons the night before last. Somewhere there’s a photograph of her with Billy Bob. Oh, yes, and with the mayor.”

  “The mayor?” Weiss asked.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not a scandal; it’s just a party photograph.”

  “Where else in the house might Billy Bob have left his fingerprints?” Morton asked.

  “On that note,” Stone said, pointing, “and in the kitchen. No, forget the kitchen, my housekeeper has already been in there this morning, wiping everything down. She’s very thorough. By the way, she discovered the body. She’s lying down in the second-floor guest room. Maybe she’s recovered enough to talk to you by now.”

  Weiss headed for the stairs.

  Joan Robertson, Stone’s secretary, came into the room. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Joan,” Stone said, “when did you last see Billy Bob?”

  “Yesterday morning around ten, when he was on his way out. He said he had to go to Omaha, and he’d be back in the city tonight, at the Four Seasons.”

  “Do you have any idea why he didn’t come see me before he left?”

  “I thought you had gone out. Were you in the house?”

  “I was here, in the study, reading, all day.”

  “When you didn’t come down to the office, and when Mr. Barnstormer came down, I just assumed you had gone out.”

  Dino spoke up. “Did you see him leave the house?”

  “Yes; a driver put his luggage into a black Lincoln and they drove away.”

  “How did you meet this Billy Bob?” Morton asked Stone.

  “The head of the law firm I work for introduced him to me as a new client.” He gave the man Eggers’s name and number.

  “I was there for that, too,” Dino said. “Make a note; somebody took a shot at Billy Bob’s limo the other night. DiAngelo caught the case; he’ll give you details.”